


Yoko'ed

by skargasm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skargasm/pseuds/skargasm
Summary: Oz learns what it is to be Yoko'ed by Spike....





	1. They warned him....

I should have known better. I mean, the gang had all told me about him doing the whole Yoko thing so I should have been prepared for his mind games. Should have realised he was playing on vulnerabilities I hadn't realised were there. But I didn't, which is why I'm where I am now. Not that I can really complain. I mean, let's face it – if you knew you would be waking up to this face for eternity, would you complain???

* * *

The singing was off-key but relentlessly cheerful and Oz could appreciate the sentiment even though he wished Buffy would stop. _“What doesn't kill you makes you - “_

“Cranky and old before your time.” Giles' dry tones interrupted, fortunately, before Buffy could murder the chorus any more. 

“Those are **not** the lyrics Giles!! Right, Oz - “

“Don't need a babysitter.” 

“Shut up Spike.” You could just tell how many times Giles had had to utter those very words by how weary he sounded. In fact, all of them looked a bit weary and grey, worn out by it all. 

“Like I said, no big. Least I could do for looking after my stuff all this time.” 

“That really is no trouble Oz – I wasn't using the storage and your letters detailing your efforts to attain control over your werewolf have been quite fascinating. In fact, I actually wanted to ask about the Swami you mentioned and his ideas on the spirituality of your transformation - “

“No, Giles, we have to go!! With Oz here to keep an eye on Spike - “

“Don't need a bloody babysitter!” 

“ - we can all go which is brilliant because you and Xander can share the driving and keep each other company when Wills and I hit the shops. And before you say it, I know this is mainly a research trip but you can't _seriously_ expect us not to make the most of the shopping opportunity can you?!” As she spoke, Buffy was gently but inexorably pushing Giles towards the front door. 

“Besides, G-man, you yourself said we all needed time away from his Bleached Causticness. I know he's been driving me crazy when he was staying with me, and having him here with you has definitely had an effect.”

“What sort of effect?!” Oz smirked as he watched Xander try to figure a way out of his foot in mouth induced screw up. Giles had frozen by the door, ignoring Buffy's efforts to keep him moving. 

“I thought we had agreed not to say anything about how cranky Giles has been acting lately?!” Willow joined the conversation as she came from the kitchen, a cooler fixed with snacks in her arms. 

“Cranky?!” Giles' pronunciation was crystal clear, as was his distaste and dismay. 

“Only in a Spike has been getting to all of us and well, you spend the most time with him - “

“And he almost had me convinced I should go and join the army, so who knows what poison he's been dripping in your ear?!” 

“And we all know the cranky old man thing is because you haven't had a visit from your friend Olivia in ages so - “

“ **OLD** man?!” 

“Oz, we're going!!” Buffy finally shoved Giles through the door, waving her fingers at Oz as she disappeared after her still loudly complaining Watcher.

“Dude, thanks again for doing this. You know where everything is – call if you need otherwise see you in a few days.” With a quick wave, Xander took the cooler box out of Willow's hands and followed Buffy and Giles. There was more vague mutterings from Spike but the discomfort came from another source. 

“I just – I um, well I guess – I... Look, Oz, you didn't come back for me, did you?? I mean, if you did we can talk and ….”

“Hey, Wills, I thought we got past all of this. Really, I'm happy for you and Tara. We're good.” 

“Okay. Well, um, yeah, that's good. Right. Just, watch out for Spike. He may not be able to bite humans anymore but he's still dangerous.”

“Why thank you, Red, I didn't know you cared. Now why don't you toddle off with the rest of 'em so me and this 'un can get acquainted.”

“You'd better behave Mister – after your last little escapade Giles might not stop Buffy the next time she starts talking about staking you!” 

“Willow, you wound me Pet. Bit of a mean thing for a slip ofa girl like you to be saying. 'Course, I understand that you didn't like hearing the truth the other day but - “

“La la la, I'm not listening to you!!” Still singing loudly, Willow gave Oz a one armed hurried hug before pretty much running out of the door. The silence of her departure was only broken by Spike letting out a chuckle. 

“They almost make it too easy. Get away with stuff I wouldn't expect because I always seem to overestimate their intelligence. So, are you like them – a bona fide Scooby??!” 

“Spike, unless you want me to keep you tied up for the duration, I suggest you quieten down.” 

“Like that is it?”

“Yep.” 

“Right then.”

* * *

Surprisingly, the slim redhead seemed to have excellent taste in music and almost in spite of himself, Spike found himself involved in a spirited conversation about the difference between real music and the shit played today. Spike watched and waited for his opportunity – if he could only have fun with words, then he would make the most of it. And if it caused a bit of trouble for the Scoobies, all the better. 

“So how come you didn't get invited to the research shindig??” Oz looked up from the small pile of records he was looking through at Spike's feet, obviously more engrossed in deciding what to play rather than listening to what Spike was saying. Or even to register just how close he had got to Spike during their conversations. 

“Huh?? Oh, that. Not my thing.” 

“Really? Thought you rode into town on your white horse to sweep Red off her feet.” 

“Not so much anymore.” 

“What, cus she switched sides?? Wouldn't have thought that would stop you. Talk her back onto your side with your silver tongue??” Oz laughed out loud.

“Where do you come up with this stuff? For a start, Willow's not the _only_ one who switched sides and even if she wasn't, I don't do silver anymore.” A sad little smile crossed his face, and Spike slowly put two and two together from the things the others had said in front of him, to other little things that added up to a pretty strong conclusion that Oz wasn't quite human anymore. He hadn't actually paid very much attention to what they had all said about Oz before he arrived and might well have missed them saying something that would have given him time to prepare. No matter, he knew now. And just like that his plans changed. Because if he was right in what he was thinking, it looked like the Scoobies had actually brought the key to his cage door right to him. All he had to do was figure out a way of doing this because the Scoobies had obviously forgotten one very important detail: Werewolf, therefore demon, therefore biteable. Eminently biteable – it had been a while since Spike had indulged his taste for men but there was no denying that the little werewolf was tasty looking. But first....

“Allergic to silver eh? Bit inconvenient what with all the rings and stuff you're wearing.” As soon as he said it, he knew he had overstepped – gone from sounding merely curious to interrogating. Inwardly cursing what Angelus had called his inability to stick to any plan with a semblance of subtlety he waited to see just how badly he had fucked up. If Oz took flight, decided that Spike was playing him, he knew regardless of any attraction he might hold for the young wolf – and it was there, he could _feel_ it – he wouldn't get a chance to get close. 

“Never said I was allergic.” Instantly on guard, Oz stepped back from Spike and returned his attention to the records strewn across the floor. Bugger. 

“How come you got this problem then?? Didn't have it all those years ago when I first came through dear ole Sunnyhell.”

“It was kinda recent – an accident with a family member and life changing.” Oz looked up. “Why do you want to know??”

“Just making conversation wasn't I? 

“Uh huh. You just making conversation? Sounds a lot like your whole Yoko deal.” 

“S'that what they're calling it?? My _Yoko_ deal?” Suddenly Spike felt angry. What the hell did this bunch of kids expect from him? He was a Master fuckin' Vampire, leashed by scientists and forced to collaborate with his natural enemy in order to survive. If they had their way, he and his kind would never be free of this type of leash – would all suffer agonies merely for following their basic nature. Surely the wolf could understand that? Surely, despite all of his travels trying to find a way to keep his wolf under control, there was a part of him that understood that – a part of him that wanted to be wild and free??

“What would you call it?” Not accusatory, more curious – was the pup actually _listening_ to him? Did he really want to hear the truth?

“I'd call it trying to get free of this bloody chip – Adam offered me that, which is more than the bloody Scoobies ever did. They don't ever want me to get rid of this bloody thing – they want all of us, every single demon out there leashed by their fucked up Initiative. Whether it's right or wrong – even the bloody peaceful demons are locked up in there. But you know that – you know because you got stuck in there too didn't ya? So you tell me what I did was wrong and I'll call you a hypocrite to your face!” Angry that he had let the pup see that much of him, Spike deliberately turned his head away, getting as comfortable in his bonds as he could and closing his eyes. He would use Oz to get himself free, he would – he just had to figure out how. And sod the part of him that seemed to want the pup to understand and be on his side......


	2. Temptation...

Legs pumping, the wind sailing by, bringing with it a myriad of delicious scents. Trees and grass, solid earth beneath his paws causing the near silent thud-thud sound. A sound – bushes trembled, suddenly birds flew into the sky and he could scent his prey was near. Heavy breathing, panicked gasps and sobs leading him on, he slowly, inexorably herded “it” to a suitable place to take it down. A whistle and he turned his head, mouth open in a happy grin as he watched 'him' running almost silently alongside. Unspoken communication then hand gestures made by pale, long-fingered hands and he veered left, following the directions that would create the final pincer movement. Blood roaring through his veins, growls emanating from his throat as the shuddering gasps grew louder and louder, the open field the perfect place to bring it down. A sullen moon broke through a cloud and across the clearing golden eyes watched him with approval as with a burst of speed they came together to bring it down. One wrench with powerful jaws and hot blood gushed into his mouth, sweet with the taste of terror and adrenaline. Obeying every primal instinct within him, he moved back so that he could take 'his' fill of the heavy streams of blood being pumped out by a failing heart and he threw his head back and howled his victory to the night.

* * *

“Wassamatter Pet, bad dreams?” Golden eyes staring at him across the width of the room, familiar yet not, causing a burning desire to roil in his gut and Oz shakily pushed himself up to a seated position, shoving his sweaty hair from his forehead. 

“You – I - “

“What's up luv? Moon calling to you? No surprise – it's a real beauty tonight, all thick and full of possibilities.”

That voice, that damned voice – if only he would shut up, give Oz a chance to get his bearings. He felt like one, giant jangling nerve, his head fighting with his instincts as he sat there, staring at Spike across the room.

Forcing his eyes to close, he tried to remember the chant the Swami had given him, tried to calm the heavy beat of his heart thumping in his chest, ignore the persistent urges of his cock, the call of the Hellmouth singing to him in the quiet of the room. Calling him. Enticing him. 

“Shut up!”

“Didn't say anything.” 

“Just – I don't want that – what you talked about, it isn't me.” He was almost shouting although he couldn't explain why. The sound of denim shifting on heavy fabric and in the darkness of the room he could see Spike moving himself around, trying to get as comfortable as the heavy coils of rope wrapped around him would allow. Everything black and white – the pristine skin gleaming in the inky blackness of the night, denim and cotton covering but not hiding the powerful body.

“Wasn't you.” Shaking his head again, Oz tried to focus. Had he missed something?

“What?” 

“Wasn't you. Before. Before the bite, before your introduction to the underbelly of Sunnyhell. Been fighting it for a long time haven't you? Tried ignoring the way it seeps into your veins, gets under your skin. Bet you let them tie you up, cage you to keep it pushed it down hard, slammed it down whenever it raised it's head and tried to get even a sniff of freedom. Been all over ain't ya? Trying to find someone or something that could change it, fix it, make it fit into normal.”

“Shut up.”

Black and white room instead of colour.

Dark, sultry voice dragging his secrets out into the night.

“But you haven't been normal since that first bite. Took a detour from the road all your little pals were traveling on the very first time you shed that skin and let the furry one cover your body. Does it feel good when you change? Slip free of all that normalcy and petty rules, feel your instincts push to the forefront until all that matters is what you want? What you need becomes the priority instead of all the mealy mouthed platitudes they hide behind to justify holding you back?” 

“Shut up.” He wasn't sure who he was speaking to – Spike or the moon, with it's insistent call, digging under his skin and making it itch so badly, made it feel like it just didn't fit, was too tight.

“Wouldn't piss you off so much if it wasn't true. See, that's what's so funny about them calling me their Yoko. Wouldn't have thought they'd know who the bloody hell she was for a start. But she told the truth – truth as she saw it.” Another shift. 

Through the darkness he was staring into those eyes. Eyes that saw too deeply, that looked beneath the surface in a way no one really had since the bite. Oh, they'd all said they were there for him, tried to understand. The one who had come the closest was Xander – kooky, nothing special Xander who had experienced the exquisite bite of a demon beneath his flesh, knew how it felt to act on every instinct and emotion just because he wanted to. He pretended to the girls that he didn't remember, that he regretted every action, but Oz had spoken to him, had heard that tiny note of wistfulness. 

Every other person or creature he had encountered on his travels was trying to do the same thing as he: learn to control it, bend it and squash it and hide it in order to be normal. To fit in.

“See, she told John he could do better on his own. Told him that listening to the others, working in a group, was hiding his talent, submerging it, squishing it to fit what they all represented instead of setting it free, giving it free reign. An' that's why they broke up. Not because of her, not even because of what she said. It was because he realised it was the truth. The truth will set you free – ain't that why they say? Just think about “imagine” - definitely not a Beatles song is it? Doesn't make it not good though. Doesn't make it unworthy or not right. Just – different.”

He was nodding agreement, something inside him screaming **YES** , yelling at him that it was all true, that all it wanted was him to be true to himself – ALL of himself, not just the bits that suited his friends or that they found palatable. Not “just” anything. 

He didn't realise he was moving from the bed until too late to stop, hands half transformed into claws as he struggled with the heavy ropes, slicing at them, accidentally catching skin in his attempts to free Spike quicker. He wanted to get at that body – now, now, now – wanted closer to that voice that spoke to everything within him.

* * *

It was a gift – that pretty, feral package that was ripping at his clothes in an attempt to get more skin, more “HIM”. How incredibly flattering, how arousing. There was something that he needed to do though, something necessary to ensure that the balance of this tipped completely in his favour, and that after having him the pretty wolf did not just skulk back into his cage and try to forget that it had ever happened. No one time deal, this.

As soon as his arms were properly freed, he shoved the wolf backwards, carefully scenting the air to check Oz's reaction. He didn't think Oz was an alpha but he had to be sure before he made his next move. The blast of pheromones, the instant spark of pleasure in the transformed eyes confirmed that he was correct and with an inner fist pump of victory, he jumped from the chair.

Staring the aroused werewolf dead in the eye, he stretched his arms up to the ceiling, enjoying the feel of muscles un-kinking almost as much as he enjoyed the admiration in the pup's eyes. And no mistake, this was a pup. Whatever clan or pack responsible for biting and turning him should be ashamed of themselves, letting him loose at his young age and not providing a mentor or anyone who could help him deal with his urges. All the better for Spike then – he could be the pup's pack and he would teach him to hunt with ferocity, all to take care of his alpha of course.

Casually he shrugged off the remains of his black tee-shirt and then reached and undid the first button of his jeans, all the while reveling in the intent watchfulness of his pup. The boy was practically salivating with the need to touch and be touched, and a soft part of Spike felt slightly sorry for him. What must it have been like, to be bitten and turned, surrounded only by those who insisted on black and white, good and evil? No understanding of the maelstrom within, no real help, just so-called friends locking him up each and every month, no doubt making the creature within claw and fight for even a modicum of freedom? 

“Is this what you want then pup? You been searching and searching, all this time telling yourself you're looking for a cure when what you really want is an alpha?” The indecision and confusion on Oz's face was almost painful to see and Spike could quite clearly recognise the signs of an internal battle. The only question that remained was which part of Oz would win. Would it be his civilised side, desperate to hold onto his humanity, his friends – even if it was at the cost of never truly reconciling his inner conflict? Or would it be the beast? The part of him that yearned for an alpha, for a pack – somewhere to belong that accepted all of him. The part of him that was yearning, quite clearly, for Spike. It looked like it was decision time.....


	3. Tables Are Turned....

Hands that were clearly shaking went to the waistband of the boxers Oz was wearing, a final split second of indecision before he shoved his hands beneath the elastic and pushed the soft cotton down from his narrow hips. 

There was no time for gloating – that could come later perhaps. Instead, Spike reached out and tugged the young man forward into his embrace, one cruel hand grabbing the short hair at the nape of Oz's neck and yanking his head backwards. 

“Wanna hear you say it before we go any further. Don't want no cries of rape afterwards, understand me” The green eyes were wide in Oz's face and it was obviously a struggle to concentrate on what Spike was saying. Oz's lower body was pressed as close to Spike as he could get it, hips writhing in an attempt to get closer still. “Keep still”. Instant, quivering obedience. His one hand still firmly holding Oz's head in that uncomfortable arch, Spike used his other hand to stroke down the lean chest, skating over pebble hard pink nipples to rest on the fluttering muscles of Oz's stomach. He let his fingers tangle in the thin trail of hair that led down the slight curve, avoiding the eager cock that jerked and tried to follow his fingers. “Say it.”

“I want this.” The voice was quiet but firm. Committed. 

“What do you want pup? Spell it out.” His hand suddenly grabbed the sturdy column of flesh, squeezing it until it was just _this_ side of painful and Oz's face was twisted in a grimace. 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

“And?” Confusion and desire warred on the pale feature before comprehension. 

“I want – I want you to be my alpha. I want to be yours.” As soon as the words were spoken, a look of peace crossed Oz's face, his body relaxing completely in Spike's grip – malleable, patient, waiting for whatever his alpha wanted to give him. 

“Good pup, very good. You know where there's any slick? Your mate likely to have some?” With an eager nod, Oz stepped back and turned towards the rumpled bed. “Go get it then.” Soothing to Spike's ego that Oz waited for permission. He wasn't fooling himself – there would be battles ahead but at this point in time, the boy's wolf was quite clearly the majority controller of the body, and eager for whatever Spike wanted to do. 

Oz rooted quickly through Xander's bedside table, lifting a half used tube of lubricant triumphantly in the air. He looked from Spike to the bed, clearly wondering why the vampire had remained by the chair. Spike jerked his head to call him back over and he came immediately, a growl of arousal rumbling in his chest as Spike roughly span him around until he was facing the chair. 

Pushing his body up against the heat of the young werewolf in front of him, Spike pressed firmly on Oz's head, pushing it forwards until Oz was on tiptoe, his upper body bent over the chair, his arse pressed flush to the frayed denim at Spike's groin. With quick movement, Spike tugged Oz's hips backwards, kicking at his ankles to make him spread his legs wide. For a moment Oz struggled, arching his back to try to rise out of the chair, growling loudly. Spike growled back, slamming Oz's head down again and stepping forward so no matter how much he struggled Oz couldn't pick himself up. 

Oz whined, subsiding into position, head twisted so he could look awkwardly up at Spike from his subservient position. Waiting. 

Peeling back the open flaps of his jeans, Spike pulled his hard cock out, adjusting his stance slightly so he was ready if Oz started to struggle again. When he didn't, when he merely stayed in position waiting, Spike flipped the lid on the tube of lubricant, liberally coating his hard. He slathered it over his dick, unable to stop from giving himself several quick strokes as he anticipated the tight, dry heat that awaited him. Squeezing more lube onto his fingers, he negligently tossed the lube to the ground, ignoring the mess it made as it oozed onto the floor. 

He presented two fingers to the tight picker nestled between the surprisingly rounded cheeks, giving no further warning before pushing past any initial resistance and sliding into the tight crevice of Oz's arsehole. Oz gave a pained grunt but didn't struggle as Spike twisted and turned his long fingers within the tight grasp. 

Such vulnerability laid out for him, only for him. And just like that the desire mutated. Oh he still intended to be the pup's alpha; still intended to own the smooth white curves of Oz's deliciously tight looking arse. But it was more than that. It was suddenly about making Oz feel secure. Wanted. 

His fingers gentled inside the tight clasp of Oz's arse, no longer twisting and smearing lube, now they were stroking, stretching, easing the way whilst ramping up the desire. Deliberately pressing on Oz's prostate with regular, constant pressure that was drawing out groans and grunts, admiring the cheeks that flexed and bunched beneath him, made his cock spit out evidence of appreciation until he was smearing precum all over the white skin with every move. Sliding his fingers free, he carefully pressed both thumbs to the pale pink starfish, nudging and pushing until it blossomed open once more. Gently moving them in quiet circles that teased and taunted the nerve-rich rim so that the grunts and groans were becoming whimpers, the pup's hands were clawing at the seat and the burnished red hair was gleaming with sweat.

Inside now, thumbs squeezed tight against each other by the strength of muscle until he pulled them apart – slowly while he rub, rub, rubbed in rhythm with the whines rising from the seat of the chair, loving the sounds of surrender. He was suddenly conscious of how painful his cock was, throbbing and aching with the need to be there, to be tunnelling into that sweet looking passage that offered a new home, a sanctuary. 

Impatiently shoving his jeans down his hips, wanting to feel as much skin as possible against him, he finally pressed the aching head of his cock to the spasming pucker of Oz's arse. Sweet, dark pressure, a bubble of time in that moment where he was inside but not then the pop of muscles relenting and the long, smooth slide until his hips were pressed against the pup's haunches and his cock was surrounded by heat and pressure until he felt like he was going insane. Rushing sound in his ears slowly receding until he could hear the sobbing sounds coming from Oz.

“Pup? You want me to stop?” It would damn near dust him to do it but he would if he had to. Pain had no place in this, not anymore if it ever had. “Oz?”

“No. God, don't stop – just – gimme a minute”. It was obviously a struggle for Oz to speak at all, and he could feel the thunderous beat of Oz's heart against his deeply buried cock, the air rushing through lungs like a bellows as Oz fought to adjust. With soothing hands, he stroked down the beautiful line of Oz's spine, coaxing tight muscles to relax; kneading and massaging until once more the body beneath him was smooth and fluid as silk, a smorgasbord laid out for his delight; a willing canvas to bite and mark as he saw fit. 

He didn't need a sixth sense to know that Oz was ready – the sweet surrender of that body told him everything he needed to know. Stroking hands down sweat soaked sides until he came to the natural resting point of Oz's hipbones, jutting out like handles inviting his grasp. The lightest grip as he held Oz still and moved his hips slowly backwards, hissing as night cool air touched his cock in an almost painful kiss after the possessive burn of Oz's arse. Slow, deep slide as far as he could reach; slower withdrawal until the head of his cock was tugging at the rim , stretching and holding it open as Oz continued to whimper. He wanted more than that, wanted more than wordless moans and groans.....

* * *

Too big, too hard, too much. His brain was scrambling to tell him it was on overload whilst his instincts were practically purring their satisfaction – that awful pain/pleasure of entry as his body was stretched until he felt like his skin would snap apart. Hard, like marble – long and solid and pain so bright behind his eyelids that he knew he was sobbing but could do nothing to stop himself. 

The offer to cease was so incredibly tempting but his wolf was snarling and howling it's approval, screaming at him that this was right and good and alpha was so **deep** and that it would get better, would _feel_ amazing if he would just accept. Deep shuddering breaths as he tried to force himself to relax and he thought it couldn't work, that Spike was just too much and he couldn't cope until an infinitesimal twitch tapped just right, the stretch of his asshole blossoming into a pain so pleasurable that he wanted to throw back his head and howl – not his wolf, HIM. Oz wanted to thrust his hips back and encourage Spike to begin a hard driving rhythm; wanted those hands on his hips to dig in cruelly, hold him in place and hammer into him; wanted – he wanted _everything_.

Everything that Spike had promised: an alpha, someone to turn to when his beast was raging and telling him what to do; force him into submission; he wanted someone who understood that the world had shades of grey and wasn't all black and white; someone who wanted him with his inner beast, his music geek, his less than talkative ways – him as he was, not whatever potential they saw in him. 

Innate knowledge of the human body and Spike was unerringly hitting his prostate with every single stroke. Every single stroke. Unmaking Oz with every smooth movement of those hips; the scritch of nails down his spine making him writhe and shake; the coolness of Spike's chest leaning over him, pushing those hard hips closer as he laid himself over Oz's body until he could begin to speak in Oz's ear.

“Mine now, Pup, gonna take you away from here and you're gonna be mine. Gonna be a pack all of our own we are – you an' me. Get outta this place and see the world proper like. No more hiding who you are – no more trying to squeeze yourself into the smallest box and pretend that's all that you are.” That dark, seductive voice once more in his ear, speaking to the very heart of what he wanted, desired, _needed_. How did you say no to yourself? “Me an' you, gonna be the beast inside and love it – you want that, don't ya Pup?”

“Not – just - “ So hard to speak but he had to – had to get the words out so that Spike didn't think that – didn't think what?

“Not just the beast. Know that don't I? Know all about the person you are inside that too. An' you want that don't you? You want to be wanted for everything that you are – everything that you will be. Not everything that **they** want for you, but for what you want.” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up! 

He couldn't fight himself and Spike too. This – this _taking_ of his body was almost too much but Spike wanted more than that. He wanted everything that Oz was and he was petrified. 

“No, no Pup – don't be scared. Can smell it on ya – know what your scared of. Won't make you do what you don't wanna - “

“I - “

“But me and you – could look after each other? Be a pack yeah?” And suddenly the deep movements within his body weren't taking but giving, pleasure so intense he wanted to close his eyes and curl up within in, feel it for eternity, live in it. “We can have that – you can have me.” Such a bald statement, such a vulnerable statement – laid bare and he knew if he had been looking Spike in the eye he would have seen something he recognised in there, something he saw in his mirror every day since he had been bitten. And for the first time in forever, he and his wolf were in complete synch – they both wanted exactly the same thing. Tilting his head was instinctual, showing his submission with his body while his moans signaled his agreement. This was what he wanted – Spike, all of Spike, wanting all of him. Fangs in his throat, Spike fucking him harder as he sucked at his blood with the promise of everything he had never dared utter that he wanted. He didn't need his brain online for that which was a good thing because with a well aimed thrust Spike sent him over the edge, his eyes rolled back in his head and he shot his load against the back of the chair.

* * *

His plans never did work out the way he wanted them to. But he could hardly complain this time. Someone who shared his taste in music and could actually hold a conversation but could keep his mouth shut too; a beautiful body next to his every single night, hot blooded animal eager to learn everything that he could about what Spike liked, what made Spike tick, what made him blow his brains out through his dick. 

He was Alpha, no question about that. Of course, that hadn't quite worked out how he'd planned either. Seemed like the Pup wanted an alpha that didn't want to bleed the population dry so he found himself bagging it unless he was feeding off that freely offered neck. But it was human blood now – none of that animal crap for him. And that actually made life easier cos who the hell wanted to have to dodge the Slayer every time he wanted to eat? Didn't mean he was whipped just cos he didn't want to argue every time he wanted a bite. 

And there was the other bit that hadn't quite worked out as planned. They travelled – no question, they went all over the place. But the Pup always seemed happier when he got to come back to Sunnydale and what kinda alpha would he be if he didn't indulge his Pup in what he wanted every now and then? Still hated the bloody Scoobies but the Watcher wasn't half as bad as he'd originally thought – had a decent music collection and it was nice to talk about the Mother Country sometimes. Actually made a good cuppa tea and if it meant he didn't have to listen to that brain-bleeding Scooby babble he was happy for his Pup to bugger off with them to the Bronze. Demons in town knew to leave his mate alone – chip didn't work on 'em so he was more than happy to demonstrate what happened to anyone who ignored the scent of Spike all over the little redhead. 

Still a bloody Master Vampire wasn't he? So, if he decided to appear a bit domesticated that was entirely up to him and he'd skin anyone alive who thought any different. As long as they weren't on his Pup's hands off list. Fuck it – he got to wake up next to those green eyes every bleedin' morning and he'd always been Love's Bitch. Looked like that wasn't going to change and with the life he had now, who the hell cared?!

* * *

fin

* * *


End file.
